


what do you call love in your reality?

by starlitfics



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Bittersweet, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Romantic Fluff, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this was supposed to be more interesting but it just turned into fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitfics/pseuds/starlitfics
Summary: Rian, entirely unaware of his father’s internal romantic struggle, flashes his Papa a bright, gleaming grin. “Papa! Daddy’s home!”Jaskier just laughs, the sound as pure and clear as a ringing bell as he strides across their hardwood floor toward Geralt’s side. Now that he’s closer, Geralt can clearly see the glint of mischief shining bright in his cornflower blues.“So he is,” Jaskier muses, lifting a hand to carelessly brush aside a lock of Geralt’s white hair. “Welcome home,Daddy.”Geralt grimaces. “Watch it.”Another fic inspired byand a place to rest my head,looking into the relationships Geralt has with his newfound family, but in a different, more peaceful setting. A glimpse into the lives of Geralt, his mate, and their two children, in an exploration in what could have been.There's not a single scrap of plot to be found here, only my specialty: mindless, tooth-rotting fluff.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 552





	what do you call love in your reality?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceteiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceteiq/gifts).
  * Inspired by [and a place to rest my head](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097559) by [ceteiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceteiq/pseuds/ceteiq). 



> in my google drive, this fic is titled simply, "i'm sad so geralt gets to be happy", which i think is really all i need to say in defense of myself.  
> i mean, i was going to make this something really interesting and meaningful, with dreamsharing and discussions about what makes a reality worth living in, but... then i remembered why i was really writing it, and that was for pure family fluff. i can write my fourth fic in a row about mindless fluff. as a treat.  
> but in all seriousness, this little family that ceteiq has created has me completely head over heels! i love the dynamic between the three, soon to be four of them. i tried multiple times to write something that takes place within the plot of the story, but i eventually realized that i'm destined to write nothing but tooth rotting fluff. so i let my brain do what it wanted.  
> happy reading!

It’s long past nightfall when Geralt returns home — the moon hangs high and bright in the sky, surrounded on all sides by twinkling stars. The night is cool, the sky unclouded, and the world seems uncharacteristically at peace. He supposes, idly, that it is a fitting backdrop for the reunion that is to come.

Even Roach, in all her usually stubborn glory, seems to pick up on the calm that hangs in the air. She offers hardly any trouble at all while Geralt tacks her up for the night, save for a harsh nudge against his palm as a not-so-subtle demand to be pet. The witcher huffs, but runs a hand down her flank all the same.

“Don’t be coy,” he warns. Roach just snorts, eyeing him through a gaze Geralt swears is terribly judgemental. He still feeds her an apple slice before heading inside, but not without his fair share of empty threats that this will be the last time he does so.

When Geralt steps through the threshold and into their fair little home, he is struck by the warmth and familiarity of the air that surrounds him. The house smells of flowers and citrus, the faintly sweet scent of his mate and pups. He wonders, briefly, if anyone is awake — a wonder that is swept away in the blink of an eye by a small voice cutting through the night air.

“Daddy!”

Geralt turns, eyes meeting a blur of motion — and before he can think to respond, his body is already crouching down, arms opening for the warm body of his son as he crashes unceremoniously into his father’s embrace.

“You’re home!” exclaims Rian, nuzzling his forehead against the crook of Geralt’s neck. He can’t see the little boy’s face, but it’s not as if he can’t _hear_ the smile in his voice, a grin from ear to ear. “Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home!”

Geralt can’t keep back the low chuckle that builds in his throat. Gently, he loops his arms around Rian’s waist, hoisting his son up against his chest as he stands back up. He bounces the little boy once or twice in his arms, pressing a kiss to his mess of dark curls.

“I am. And _you,_ little wolf, seem to be up far past your bedtime.”

Rian pulls his face back from his father’s neck merely to puff his cheeks out in protest.

“But — But Papa said you were coming home tonight!” he insists, little brows knitting together. “I couldn’t sleep!”

Geralt just hums, leaning forward and kissing Rian between the eyes, and then again on the nose. His son seems to forget the reason for his frown in an instant, instead bursting into a fit of giggles and bright smiles.

“That tickles, Daddy!” he laughs, swatting at Geralt’s face with a tiny hand. 

Geralt smiles, ever so softly, the kind of gentle smile saved only for his son. He ducks down and presses a somewhat obnoxious kiss to Rian’s cheek.

“That’s what happens to wolf pups who stay up past their bedtime,” he muses, relishing the burst of laughter echoing through his son’s chest. “They get tickled.”

Rian whines, but there’s a bright smile on his lips all the same. 

“No fair. You’re a wolf too, and _you_ don’t get in trouble for staying up past your bedtime.”

Geralt hums, adjusting the hold he has on Rian’s waist. His pup doesn’t quite have a point, but Geralt furrows his brow in such a way that makes it seem like he’s considering whatever it might be.

“Maybe so,” he says, “but I’m a big wolf. Big wolves don’t have bedtimes.”

Rian sticks his tongue out. “No fair! When will I be big enough not to have a bedtime?”

Geralt clicks his tongue, not quite sure of the answer, so he tucks a strand of hair behind Rian’s ear and ponders on it a moment. When an answer does come to him, he almost can’t fight the coy glint that comes to his face.

“When you’re big enough that I can’t do _this,_ ” Geralt says, and before Rian is any the wiser, he takes his son firmly by the waist and flips him upside down. 

Rian bursts into a loud, screaming fit of laughter, flailing his little fists against his father’s knees and squirming in his hold. Eventually, Geralt takes pity on him and hoists him back up into his arms, resting Rian’s head on his shoulder and pressing another kiss to his hair.

“I suppose then you’d be big enough to not have a bedtime,” Geralt muses, “but until then, little wolf, you should be in bed when Papa tells you to be.”

Rian just giggles, albeit a little breathlessly, nuzzling the side of his head against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Are you gonna tell Papa I was up late?” he asks, voice a little sheepish. Geralt shrugs.

“What Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“What I don’t know about _what,_ exactly?”

And Geralt knows whose voice it is, but he lifts his head all the same — and even then, he’s not quite prepared for the rush of emotion that greets him.

Even in the low, flickering candlelight, Jaskier looks nothing short of ethereal, standing at the foot of the stairs with his arms crossed atop his chest. He eyes Geralt through a knowing, yet painfully amused cerulean gaze, lips twitching as they try fruitlessly to fight the grin pulling at their corners. A nightshirt hangs loosely from the omega’s shoulders, and Geralt realizes with a flutter of his heart that it’s _his._ Jaskier is drowning in sleeves and shirttails meant for a bigger man, save for his midsection — where the swell of his belly, eight months with child, has pulled the fabric tight around his skin. Geralt’s heart does another flip.

Rian, entirely unaware of his father’s internal romantic struggle, flashes his Papa a bright, gleaming grin. “Papa! Daddy’s home!”

Jaskier just laughs, the sound as pure and clear as a ringing bell as he strides across their hardwood floor toward Geralt’s side. Now that he’s closer, Geralt can clearly see the glint of mischief shining bright in his cornflower blues.

“So he is,” Jaskier muses, lifting a hand to carelessly brush aside a lock of Geralt’s white hair. “Welcome home, _Daddy._ ”

Geralt grimaces. “Watch it.”

Rian, thankfully, is still blissfully ignorant to the air of mischief in the room. He reaches out a tiny hand and takes a fistful of Jaskier’s sleeve, tugging on it gently.

“Papa, is it true that when I’m older and bigger, I won’t have a bedtime like I do now?”

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, tucking one of Rian’s soft brown curls behind his ear.

“Well, that depends, darling,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Grown-up wolves only don’t have bedtimes because they went to bed on time when they were pups. And it seems that _you,_ my dear pup, would rather do anything but.”

Lips quirking into a coy smile, Jaskier brushes Rian’s nose with a feathery touch and tickles it, for good measure. Their pup bursts into giggles, swatting his Papa’s hand away as he tries to fight the smile coming to his face. 

“I wanted to see Daddy,” insists Rian. His attempt at a pout is dreadful, but neither of his parents say so. “I missed him.”

Which is no surprise, really, since Rian _always_ misses him — but even so, it doesn’t fail to soften the edges of Jaskier’s blue gaze.

“I know you did, honey,” he says, running a thumb across Rian’s cheek. “I missed him, too. But Daddy must be awfully tired, don’t you think? Even big wolves need their sleep.”

Rian turns his big brown eyes up to Geralt, who has to try a little harder than he should not to crumble entirely under his son’s gaze.

“Are you gonna go to bed now, Daddy?”

Geralt nods, pressing a brief kiss to Rian’s forehead. “I am. And so should you.”

Rian manages a proper pout this time. “But I’m not tired.”

Briefly, Geralt meets eyes with his mate. Jaskier gives him a _look,_ before turning back to their son and bending down until he’s at eye level with him.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks. Before Rian can answer, Jaskier is opening his mouth as wide as he can manage as he gives a long, terribly dramatic yawn. Sure enough, a moment later, Rian yawns right back, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Eventually, his face falls back into a pout.

“No fair.”

Jaskier grins. “I’ve outsmarted you again, little pup. Come on, let’s get you back to bed, shall we?”

Rian makes a soft noise of protest, but stretches his arms out in his Papa’s direction all the same. Geralt shifts the boy into Jaskier’s awaiting arms, careful to rest his weight against the omega’s hip instead of his midsection. Rian rests the side of his head against Jaskier’s shoulder, looking at Geralt through a sleepy, half-lidded gaze.

“Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

Geralt leans in, pressing one more kiss to his son’s forehead.

“And I, you, little wolf.”

Jaskier is halfway up the stairs, Rian still resting gently atop his hip, when he pauses, taking a look back in Geralt’s direction.

“I ran you a bath,” he says. Even from here, Geralt can see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Make good use of it, won’t you? You smell of death and destiny, my dear.”

To which Geralt says simply, “It’s onion.”

Jaskier ignores him.

Geralt trudges up the stairs behind them, watching with fond eyes as Jaskier whisks himself and Rian into the pup’s cozy little bedroom. Briefly, he pauses behind the door frame, listening idly as his mate tucks their son into bed. He hears a few soft, sleepy protests from Rian, but they’re put to a halt once Jaskier begins to hum a low lullaby under his breath. Geralt smiles, albeit softly, and leaves them be.

Once he’s made it to the washroom, he’s quick to toe out of his boots and peel off his outer layers of clothing, tossing them carelessly to the side. The water is warm as he lowers himself into it, but that doesn’t stop him from flashing a quick Igni spell to make it just a bit hotter. With a long, heavy sigh, Geralt sinks back into the bath, resting his head against the side of the basin and letting the water wash away any trace of tension that had still remained.

Somewhere behind him, the door clicks open. Geralt harbors a glance to the side and watches as Jaskier swings a stool around, bringing it to a halt behind the witcher’s back. Geralt hears his mate sit down with a soft sigh — and though he can no longer see him, he can practically feel Jaskier’s gaze upon him. Geralt snorts.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?”

“I very well might,” Jaskier replies, and sure enough, Geralt can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re easy on the eyes, witcher.”

Jaskier’s palms are warm as they come to rest idly atop his alpha’s shoulders. Geralt leans instinctively into his touch.

“I’ve missed this body of yours, my dear,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the top of Geralt’s head — after which, he grimaces. “Though I can’t say I’ve missed the smell.”

A half smile pulls at Geralt’s lips.

“You love onions.”

Jaskier pinches the side of his arm. “Watch yourself. If you don’t scrub away every last trace of heroics and heartbreak, you surely won’t be sleeping in my bed tonight.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier just shakes his head. Geralt can feel his fingers as they work nimbly to free the witcher’s hair from its ties, before they card gently through his scalp.

“I suppose I’ll give you a head start,” says Jaskier, “out of the goodness of my heart, or what have you. If I don’t get going with this rat’s nest of hair, I don’t imagine it’ll get washed for another century, will it?”

Geralt hums. “A century’s a little harsh. A decade, maybe.”

Jaskier groans.

Any other day, Geralt thinks he would have had his fair share of complaints over Jaskier lathering his hair up with his flowery-sweet shampoos. Perhaps he’s exhausted from the journey home, or perhaps he simply longs for the feeling of his mate’s hands against his skin — either way, he offers no qualms as Jaskier massages the lavender suds into his mess of white hair.

“I had some of the worst heartburn of my life, while you were away,” Jaskier eventually says, a little too pleasantly. “I get the feeling we’re in for another pup born with a full head of hair. Wonder what color it’ll be.”

Geralt hums. “Lord knows we’re overwhelmed by choices. Brown or brown.”

Jaskier laughs, but makes a point to tug harshly at one of Geralt’s snow white locks.

“One of our pups had better come out looking at least _something_ like me,” he warns. “You and your stupid witcher genes are hogging all the glory.”

Geralt frowns. “Rian looks like you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jaskier scoffs, “as the man who shares every physical trait possible with the boy save for his hair. But even _that_ technically does come from you.”

Geralt cranes his head over his shoulder until he meets Jaskier’s gaze. He lifts his hand up from the side of the bath so he can gently cup the omega’s cheek in his palm.

“He has your eyes,” Geralt murmurs, ghosting his thumb across Jaskier’s cheekbone. “The shape of them, anyways. His hair curls like yours. And he’s got your smile.”

Jaskier smiles, lips crinkling with amusement — but his eyes are fond, shining bright and warm into Geralt’s gaze.

“You pay that much attention to my smile, witcher?”

Geralt just hums, tugging Jaskier’s head down to press a brief kiss to his lips. When they pull apart, he turns back around, letting his arm fall idly against his side. Jaskier’s fingers return to his scalp.

“Rian’s excited to meet the little one, you know,” Jaskier says. “It’s probably the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Geralt snorts. “He’s been excited for eight months.”

“Yes, but he knows we’re close. As soon as it turned December, he started asking me every morning if the baby was coming today or not.” Jaskier laughs brightly. “He may very well be more excited than I am.”

Briefly, Geralt thinks ahead to the coming month, and the inevitable dramatics on Jaskier’s part that will persist until their pup is finally out of him. “That’s saying something.”

Jaskier sighs, untangling his fingers from Geralt’s hair. Hopefully, he’s deemed it clean enough.

“You’re telling me,” he says. “I’ll admit, I was sort of worried he’d feel a bit overshadowed by them. Seeing him so thrilled to meet them… well, it’s quite sweet, don’t you think?”

“He’s always been sweet.”

“I wonder where that comes from,” Jaskier muses, and the moment Geralt recognizes the mischief edging at his voice, there’s a bucket of water being dumped unceremoniously on his shampooed head. “It’s certainly not either of us.”

Geralt turns, glaring at his mate through a curtain of soaking wet hair.

“I’m inclined to agree,” he says dryly. Jaskier, the bastard, just laughs, giving Geralt’s hair a gentle tousle.

“Well, your hair’s as clean as I’m willing to get it,” he says, rising from his seat. “Finish washing up and then come to bed, won’t you? I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Geralt says simply, “Hmm.”

Though the warm water feels divine against his aching muscles, Geralt’s body longs for the warmth and familiarity of his omega against him. If it were any other day, he thinks he’d stay in the bath a while longer — instead, he washes up quickly, scrubbing away the dirt and grime from the journey as fast as he can.

When Geralt does finally return back to their bedroom, a towel around his waist, he’s reminded that his shirt has been stolen rather unceremoniously by his mate. He eyes Jaskier through a bemused gaze.

“Seems my shirt’s been claimed,” he muses. Jaskier, seated on the edge of the bed, looks up at him with a grin.

“Yes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it?” he asks, tossing a pair of loose trousers Geralt’s way. “I suppose you’ll have no choice but to sleep without it. Poor me, having to spend the night cuddled up with my shirtless alpha and his stupidly sexy witcher chest.”

Geralt hums, slipping the trousers on and tossing the towel aside. “Poor you.”

Slowly, Jaskier stands, moving to throw his arms loosely around his alpha’s neck. Geralt understands what he’s getting at — he rests his palms gently against his mate’s hips and leans his head down, bringing their lips together in a slow, chaste kiss.

The moment is blissful but regrettably brief, as it’s interrupted not a moment later by a harsh kick from the babe just below Jaskier’s navel, hard enough that even Geralt can feel it. Jaskier pulls away with a sigh, giving his belly a firm look as Geralt cups the swell tenderly between his palms.

“Suppose they’re not happy about bedtime either,” he says. Jaskier shakes his head.

“They’re not happy about anything, these days. Never mind Rian — I don’t think anyone’s more excited for this pup to be born than _them._ ”

Geralt hums, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across the fabric surrounding the taut skin. He feels the babe shift roughly beneath his fingertips.

“Must be uncomfortable in there,” he says. Jaskier huffs.

“It’s uncomfortable out here,” he says, resting a hand atop Geralt’s. “If you think that’s bad, little one, you should see the things you’ve done to my back. And my skin, good lord… I don’t think these stretch marks will ever go away.”

Geralt arches a brow. He thinks briefly back to a time where Jaskier had been the one to run his hands across the white marks marring the witcher’s back, proclaiming his love for the beauty of each and everyone of them.

“Wasn’t it you that said that scars were a show of strength?” 

Jaskier pinches the side of his arm. “Don’t you dare use my poetry against me, witcher. Besides, I’d hardly liken having a baby or two to slaying a pack of drowners.”

Geralt clicks his tongue. “Seems like drowners are nothing compared to childbirth.”

Jaskier grimaces.

“You could say that again,” he sighs, though it’s replaced in an instant by a soft smile. “But it’s all worth it at the end of the day, isn’t it? Even though you and your brother have put my body through the wringer, I’d not trade this for anything. Even if I do miss my fair complexion.”

Geralt shuts his eyes, relishing in the feeling of warmth and life as he cradles it gently within his palms.

“Won’t be long now,” he murmurs. Jaskier leans up and kisses the side of his mouth.

“No, I can’t imagine it will,” he says. When Geralt opens his eyes, he’s met with a gleaming smile. “Look at us, eh? Soon enough we’ll be fathers two times over. I’d say that’s a right and proper accomplishment, wouldn’t you?”

Geralt huffs. “For us, maybe.”

Eventually, they settle into bed, falling into a familiar pattern. Geralt lays on his back, his head propped up gently by a pillow, with Jaskier curled closely by his side. The omega has his arms around Geralt’s neck, his head resting idly atop his alpha’s chest. Geralt lays an arm carefully across Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling his mate closer and relishing the way he melts entirely against his touch.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, my dear,” Jaskier sighs, nuzzling his nose against the crook of Geralt’s neck. “Missed your arms around me. Missed your scent.” There’s a brief pause. And then, in a softer, more hesitant voice, “I had that dream again, while you were away.”

Geralt frowns. “The same one?”

Jaskier nods, and his alpha’s frown deepens further. The dream has been explained to him on numerous occasions, though Geralt has only been able to pick up so much through his omega’s shaky, frightened recollections. He has a few pieces of the puzzle, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. A mangy old inn run by a man with a thirst for gold and whores; the foul stench of foreign alphas and unwanted sex; the image of their son, curled up in Jaskier’s arms, thin and dirty and crying. Geralt doesn’t know where it comes from or what it is — but whatever it all adds up to, it shakes Jaskier to his very core, and that’s enough for him to take it seriously. 

In his arms, Jaskier has gone remarkably still. Geralt tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

“It’s not real,” he murmurs against the top of his head. “You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, shifting uncomfortably against him.

“Yes, I suppose I do. But, Geralt…”

Jaskier purses his lips, then heaves another sigh. He rests his head gently against his alpha’s shoulder, staring nowhere in particular.

“I know it all seems like fantastical nonsense,” he whispers, “but… have you ever entertained the thought of worlds other than our own? Realities so scarily similar to the one in which we live, yet strikingly different all at the same time?”

Which Geralt doesn’t know if he has, not really — he doesn’t know if he has a proper answer, or at least one that would make his omega happy. Instead, he says simply, truthfully, “Even the most far fetched fairy tales are often grounded in truth.” 

Jaskier hums. “It’s scary to think that a world could exist with so much pain. For myself, it would be one thing — but Rian…”

His voice trails off. Geralt turns, planting a kiss to the top of his head.

“Even if it’s real somewhere,” he murmurs against his hair, “it’s not real here. No point in thinking about things that will never come to pass.”

“No,” sighs Jaskier. “I suppose it’s not. But as scary as it is… it is a little comforting, you know?”

Geralt frowns, not sure of what he’s getting at. When Jaskier pulls his head back, the alpha is surprised to see a warm smile gracing his features.

“To know that no matter what,” he says, “through hell and back, across this reality and the next… that it would always be you and I. That we would always choose each other.”

Which is a sentiment that sends a burst of warmth through Geralt’s heart, even if it is dreadfully poetic. So he says simply, “As if I’d ever have much of a choice.”

Jaskier scoffs, and Geralt is quick to pull him in for another warm kiss. Jaskier’s lips are soft as they press against his own, the feeling remarkably similar to coming home. When they pull apart, Jaskier whispers gently against his lips.

“Well, whatever world we find ourselves in,” he breathes, a smile coming to his face. “I love you. With all I have, Geralt of Rivia, and more.”

To which Geralt has no reply he thinks would suffice. He brings Jaskier in for another kiss, instead.

**Author's Note:**

> the title made more sense back when this was a dreamsharing fic, but... i still like it. and i think the ending sort of accomplishes what i wanted, with the whole exploration of what makes a world worth living in. because for these funky little gays, it's their family, plain and simple. :>  
> i hope you enjoyed it! this turned out a little more brief than how i usually write, but i think i'm just going to let that happen. i set out to write some happiness in these times of uncertainty, and i think i accomplished just that! i hope that this fic brightened your day a little, because it brightened mine to write.  
> until next time! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡


End file.
